


You want syrup with that?

by luxuries



Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [13]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Food Kink, Food Sex, Hurt, I'm Going to Hell, Isolation, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Shameless Smut, What Have I Done, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuries/pseuds/luxuries
Summary: It was nice, at first.OR:Slade makes Dick pancakes every morning without fail. Dick can't handle another bite.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947232
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	You want syrup with that?

**Author's Note:**

> No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia. I chose Paranoia ! although it, uh, got a bit out of hand lol.   
> Extreme CONTENT WARNING for very DUBIOUS CONSENT, an abusive partner and patterns of ABUSE (isolation, belittling, etc.) Also, if you don't like sex with food involved you probably will not enjoy this haha. Or, who knows, I possibly convert you. Come to the dark side, we have cookies (literally).

Dick felt terrible, really. But he couldn't stand to eat a single bite more of Slade's pancakes. The smell made him feel physically ill, the thought of consuming the carefully curated breakfast bringing him to his knees. The hardest thing to swallow was that it was Dick's fault.

Dick was the one to voice his thoughts, giving gratitude for Slade's thoughtful actions. He was the one who claimed he could 'eat this everyday!' He was the one who unintentionally urged the man on to making him breakfast every-single-day. 

Because, well, it was nice. At first. 

Waking up to that signature smell of pancakes every morning was heaven, the knowledge that when he gets up he'll have a warm meal waiting for him aiding him in getting ready. The knowledge that Slade would be flipping pancakes, a warm smile on his face when he turns around to tell him good morning, made him feel _loved._ Dick glowed under the attention; no partner had ever spent every morning with him. But Slade seemed to misunderstand, started to believe that making him breakfast was a task, not an infrequent gift. He started to obsess over the time, wanting to insure Dick still saw him before he went out for work. He started to obsess over the ingredients, rushing at one am to the grocery store in fear of not being able to make those _darned_ pancakes. Started to ask him for other things- wondering what he'd like for dinner, how he wanted his clothes folded. It was sweet, so sweet. But after the fourth week of eating nonstop pancakes for breakfast, Dick felt on the verge of snapping. 

It sounds terrible! Dick knows it does. But Slade was taking things too far. Dick hoped that the novelty of his affection would wear off, that Slade would find different things. Cook different things. Understand that just _being_ there was enough, that a kiss before the man left was all he really wanted, all he really needed. Telling him this was way harder than it should be, Slade hated when Dick was unhappy.

And he looked so happy, every single morning.

How could Dick make it stop?

-

After the fourth week he started to eat much slower, forcing Slade to leave him before he fully finished the meal. Dick would then pack up the remaining pancakes in a small cardboard box and hand it to Claire, who stood waiting by the traffic lights, just a mile or two from Slade's apartment. She would hand it over to her teenage daughter and then eat whatever remained. Dick had been helping them out for a while now, in any way he could. They were almost always in the same location, which was useful for Dick as his daily commute was on the same route. This meant Slade wouldn't have any questions if he found out Dick was making strange turns and stops in places he shouldn't. It was a little risky in that Slade sometimes followed him to work, making sure he gets to the police office safely. But Dick wasn't sure what else he could do. Throwing the pancakes away seemed cruel when people were on the streets with no assurance of having food that upcoming morning. Bringing it in to the office brought questions he couldn't quite answer. _Uh, my boyfriend just really, really likes making pancakes?_ Yeah, sounds reasonable.

-

It was all going to plan until Slade showed up one day at his work. Dick sent him a confused look, wondering what the man wanted at this hour. Dick wasn't getting off till 6. Maybe he messed up the time- he was one hour early. He expected Slade to approach his desk, but instead the man went to the general reception.

_Strange._

He could just be greeting the receptionist, but that wasn't typical to Slade's behaviour. In fact, he hated the people Dick worked with for various reasons that Dick was not privy to. Growing more confused by the minute, Dick stands up and starts walking towards his boyfriend. Before he can reach him, Slade walks off without even a glance in Dick's direction. 

If he wasn't so bewildered, he would have felt hurt. He shakes his head and walks back to his desk, plopping down with a thoughtful hum. His colleagues shoot him some looks which Dick can't quite read, something like concern.

-

He sits casually, tapping to the radio music while he waits for the light to go green; mentally listing all the witnesses who still needed to show up in court for his current case. Bored, he looks over to see if Claire and her daughter are doing okay. Their little makeshift tent in the alleyway is gone.

Dread starts to crawl from his toes to the tip of his head.

The light flashes and Dick has little option but to drive.

_

"Slade?" He calls out, shaking his shoes off as he reaches for the light switch. He shrugs his briefcase off his shoulder and bends down to place his shoes in the designated area, as prescribed by Slade.

He heads to the living room with caution, wondering why the lights are turned off. Was Slade even home? His car was in the driveway. Could have gone for a walk. The T.V is on but muted, the newscasters looking mildly amusing as they open and close their mouths like fish. The scene switches to a crime scene and the blue and red lights wash over the living room floor, making his hair stand on end. Something is wrong.

His finger is about to flick the light switch up when a set of arms embrace him from behind. He gasps.

"Slade," he puts a hand to his heart as it pounds wildly, making sure it stays in his chest. "You scared me. What have you been up to?"

"I can ask you the same thing, dear." Dick turns around in his hold to face his boyfriend, feeling alarmed at the man's tone. _Change the subject_.

"I, uh, saw you at the station earlier." 

"Yeah?" Slade challenges.

"Yeah." He keeps his voice steady despite the edge of apprehension creeping into his thoughts. He had a faint suspicion that Slade was related to Claire's sudden departure. He hoped he was wrong.

"You work too much." The man leans down and noses at his neck, inhaling deeply. Dick hoped he couldn't smell the signature scent of fear reeking from his body.

"What do you mean?" He knew what he meant.

"You spend more hours at that shitty job than you do with me."

"But..." Dick panics. He needed the money. Slade assured him he would take care of him, take care of everything- but Dick didn't want that. He craved independence desperately. This job is his lifeline, his sanity. "They were thinking of promoting me, I wanted to tell you earli-"

"What?" The man hisses against his skin and Dick flinches. Dick would admit the timing was terrible, the man was already mistrustful for other reasons. He was hoping to tell him the upcoming weekend, after their morning sex. Slade was always more accepting after sex.

"I really love this job Slade." Sorrow bites at his lips. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he already knows he's lost. 

"You love it more than me?" Slade detaches himself from Dick's neck (thank god, he felt especially vulnerable with teeth so close to his jugular) and puts his hands on both of Dick's cheeks. He's stuck.

"No, no of course not!" Dick scrambles for a good enough reason to satisfy the man. "I want to make money too, Slade." It was a bad choice.

"We've gone over this countless times." Slade grumbles, nails starting to dig into his skin. It hurts, but Dick is focused solely on convincing the man he _needs_ this job, without actually telling him he needs it.

"I know, I know. I just-" He had to remove himself from the scenario. It's not about what Dick wants. "Bruce would worry if I stopped suddenly." Work on Slade's emotions, his desire to make everything seem _normal_.

"We'll make something up." No, no, no, no, no, no!

"Slade please I-"

"You know what," The silver-haired man interrupts, "How about you try to convince me. Hm?" Dick cringes internally at the suggestion. Keeps his mind on staying still, to keep his legs stationary as his head screams at him to run.

"Slade-" The man takes a step back, leaving Dick unsteady at the sudden loss of stability. Before Dick can ask, the man backhands him. 

His head snaps to the side and he yelps like a dog, hand instantly moving to his cheek to investigate the damage.

"Slade-" The man slaps him again, on the other cheek. Small mercies. Dick becomes as silent as the newscasters on the T.V, tears welling in his eyes. Pathetic.

"Pathetic." Slade remarks, the familiar look of disappointment sharp in his eye. The man grabs his arm and drags him to the bedroom while Dick stumbles to keep up. He's thrown on the bed with little tenderness, bouncing once (oh how he missed Jason, flinging each other onto beds and laughing all the while. He wasn't laughing now. He suspected Jason wasn't, either) before laying deceptively still.

"Stay." The figure hovering over him orders and walks off. Dick sits up to contemplate his options. He could try make a run for it, only further enraging his boyfriend, or he could try to debate with him. _Yeah right._

Before he can think of a more reasonable, well thought out plan, the door reopens and the man turns on the light. Dick was allowed to choose the bedroom's furniture- a more soft approach to the modern cleanliness Slade preferred. The light shines warmly, unlike the pale white's of the rest of the apartment. It was Dick's sanctuary. He placed a wooden desk against the wall with a window right above it, providing ample natural light for Dick's casework. It was supposed to be his sanctuary.

"Now, you're going to be real good for me so that I can reconsider your promotion." Slade sets something down on the nightstand and Dick moves to see it when his face is pressed into the cushion. He struggles for air and bucks violently when Slade's heavy weight drapes over his back.

"Shh, stay still. Try be patient for me, Dick." 

Dick wants to scream. Wants to demand the man stops. 

He doesn't- he can't.

The hand pushing his head down lets go as Slade starts to strip him. Dick doesn't move, only lifting his face just enough to breathe. Slade's big hand starts palming at his clothed member, which isn't even half hard.

He lets it happen. Doesn't try to dislodge Slade from his back. Keeps his arms motionless by his sides. Winces as his boxers are shimmied down, as two hands grab his hips and lifts him up. He's in that shameful presenting position that Dick _hated_. Slade never used it unless he was mad. 

When he feels something cold trickle down his crack he almost attempts to stop the whole ordeal. The man swipes the liquid over his hole and it trickles down, sluggishly, to his balls. Dick makes a confused sound and turns his head to the side, trying to see what was happening. He blanches when he realizes what the man was using for lube.

It's maple syrup.

"W-what are you do- doing?" Dick falters as the liquid starts to heat over his skin, abruptly sending spikes of arousal to his lower groin as the man tests a finger against his hole.

"Making your favorite." Slade answers darkly, a tinge of humor to his voice that makes Dick feel sick. 

His cock is semi hard when another cold liquid slips down his butt. Slade starts pushing the liquid into Dick, using three fingers. It feels weird, wrong. Heavier than the maple syrup, more clumpy.

"Pre-made pancake mix, straight from the fridge." Slade supplies.

Dumbfounded, Dick struggles for anything to say. He shivers as he _feels_ the substance trickle down further and further, the stark contrast to his heated insides making him incredibly uncomfortable.

"Slade- why-" He attempts to turn over but Slade keeps him steadily in place, single-minded on his task.

The fingers slowly leave his body, Slade's cock quickly taking their place. Dick moans at the sensation- wet, sticky- too much. The man sets up a rigid pace, never truly pulling out in order to keep everything _in_. It sloshes back and forth as Dick is jackhammered into the mattress- ruthless. His hands search for something to hold onto, gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

"You like that?" Slade groans and stops briefly, basking in the heat of Dick's insides.

Before Dick can even begin to analyze how he's feeling, Slade starts up again. The sickly sweet smell of maple syrup and Slade's woody musk whip against his nose. The mixture is disgusting, but Dick moans nonetheless. His partner slams against his sweet spot repetitively, making Dick's breathing hitch.

"Like feeling stuffed?" Dick's eyes leak as he tries to nod.

"Well then, maybe you'll reconsider giving your pancakes away every morning." Another thrust. Dick doesn't react, too faraway to actually understand what was being said. He just makes little, pleased moans. Mewling like a cat in heat as Slade grabs his hair from behind, forcing his face up. 

"You hearing me?" The man growls into his ear and stops his relentless pace.

"Yes, yes, yes," Dick pants desperately, trying deplorably to fuck himself on Slade's member.

"Good boy."

He preens under the attention, slapping his hips back in time with Slade's thrusts. Slade chuckles dangerously behind him and grabs Dick's cock, milking it for all it's worth. He lets out a broken whine as he comes, feeling fully spent.

He's still on cloud nine while Slade empties inside him, pulling out immediately after. Dick is still on cloud nine while the mixture of maple syrup, pancake mix and semen drips down his thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always appreciated!
> 
> This started off so innocent omg! it was supposed to just be Dick asking slade to stop making him pancakes but uh, horny brain never sleeps i guess.   
> side note pancakes are delicious and i have nothing against them- please don't come for me cancel culture :( <3  
> it's 12 am and i have a dentist appointment in 8 hours so I will reread it tmmrw to fix any mistakes!
> 
> Stay safe everyone.


End file.
